


swallow the sun and cough embers

by BitterlySpiteful



Series: Above [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, F/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:19:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterlySpiteful/pseuds/BitterlySpiteful
Summary: Nathaniel was born wreathed in flames and, in them, he will thrive.Oneshot for the Above Series





	swallow the sun and cough embers

**Author's Note:**

> anyway this is something i did because im procrastinating.

he is born with sparks at his fingers and flames in his eyes. he breathes life, fire, and in it, he will flourish.

 

_the gods have given us all a gift._

 

that is what nathaniel has heard, before, when he was so young that he barely remembers. he is five and does not even come up to his father's knee. 

he is a gift. he is a  _blessing_.

and he will make sure everyone remembers that. he is  _heir_ , he is the Crown, the Sun, he is a  _gift_. 

 

yet when his baby brother is born, his mother says the same thing. she gives the child a boring name, and this child does not have sparks or flames, but something other, something nathaniel has not seen, in his short life.

he is young when his brother is born. too young. most kids his age either have siblings tripled their age or none at all. there are no other fledglings with younger siblings. he envies them. he wants his parents to himself, he does not  _want_ this loud and annoying, clinging thing.

 

brian is a spitfire little monster. his magic - nathaniel still does not know what it is - is strong, too strong for an infant. he can't even walk yet, but he is tipping chairs and tables over at the drop of a pin. brian is  _strong_ , and nathaniel only makes sparks.

he trains for days on end, fighting his way through sore muscles and heat and cold. trains his magic, hones it in, until he can burn a sapling to ashes within seconds. brian does not train - he is a baby, of _course_ , he wouldn't - but still, his eyes flash lilac and azure and  _white_.

nathaniel's eyes, a pale gold, wonderful yellow suns, do not change color.

 

his father looks at him against brian, when they are older, and nathaniel sees it in his eyes, that his mind has changed. 

he is not the crown, he is not _prince_ , he is second-best.

 

brian grows in leaps and bounds, but he still has to wait for his wings.

nathaniel, though, he gets his when he turns twenty. as is standard.

he knows no hesitation once he has them attached. he did not have to wait to heal; there is a magic-healer alive, the only one of her kind. perhaps she will have children, will eventually have more healers. 

but when he stands on the ledge, the wind whipping at him, trying to tug him firstly off the island, secondly back toward solid ground, brian tells him to be careful.

he scoffs and leaps.

and  _lives_.

flying is a part of him, as it is with any angel. it is engrained, it is natural, it is  _life_ and freedom. 

 

he is no longer heir to most of Above, but he is still a prince. and when he's in his thirties, it garners attention. for, if you were to land your daughter or son in the slot of betrothed, you would never want for anything else.

but nathaniel - young, angry nathaniel - does not care. he turns the first suitor away and burns the third and fourth.

a fifth comes around, shortly after the previous had left, and she looks about as unhappy as him, if even more so. he growls at her parents - tells them to fuck  _off_ , he doesn't  _want_ to be married, he's only  _thirty-four_ , he isn't even independent yet. 

they must have made a complaint about him because his father takes a slender primary feather and whips his back with it until red angry welts criss-cross over each other and he can't move.

 

but the girl is back, a few weeks later. he finds her in the gardens, arms outstretched as she balances along the railing of a small bridge. when she notices him, she sends him a grin and a wave of water from the stream comes rushing up to soak him. he burns it off his skin - for his fire will never hurt him - and wrings out his clothes. and he spits embers back at her. she laughs and falls backward off the rail, splashing into the stream.

and he runs to the rail, peering over, only for another bout of water to hit him. growling, he storms off, steam rising from his still-wet clothes. her laughter follows him home.

 

she is young, he comes to find out. a decade younger than him. her parents, in a last-ditch effort to get her her own pair of wings, tried to have them married. he tells her that's stupid. tells her flying is worth dying for. she says she knows and she looks distant and far-away.

so she can't fly. never has, probably. how did she get here?

he asks her this and she shrugs. he rolls his eyes, mutters something about girls being weird, and gets a whip of water to the back of his head for it. she tells him to shut his mouth. he sneers at her. he is  _prince,_ he does not have to.

she puts her hands on her hips and snarls and he knows that look by now, so he flees.

 

this little game they play, where they get closer and closer, but neither admit it- they play it for years. nathaniel is nearing his fiftieth when she slams into the ground, and stands tall, wings arching back and wide. he stumbles back, eyes wide, and stares, and realizes this girl, she is  _strong_.

she asks if he wants to race, a familiar smirk tugging at her mouth, and her blue eyes are like storm clouds, boiling and dark. he grins and says on three, but on one he leaps. she's right on his heels.

they race across the grounds, dodging trees and skimming their feathertips across long grasses and streams. side by side, matching each other for each swoop and turn, equal in their movements and speed.

and when they're both exhausted, then collapse into the field, wings splaying, and nathaniel  _laughs_.

 

when their father revokes nathaniel's birthright, he isn't surprised. no, he isn't, but he's  _furious_. how  _dare_ their father abandon him like this? how  _dare_ he?

brian thanks his father, bows low, and his grin is probably so  _smug_ \- when he rises, nathaniel doesn't see smugness, but disappointment. he isn't even grateful? what sort of son  _is_ brian, to think that this- this gift, from their father, is so horrible?

but their father must not see anything.  when nathaniel whirls away and storms out, his mother follows. she puts a hand on his shoulder, tries to tell him that it's just for the best, and he snaps and breathes licks of flames at her. she gasps and clasps her arm to her chest. he glares at her, and snorts smoke, and turns and runs away from her.

 

cali, he asks her one day, do you think i am a monster?

the girl splashes water at him with a lazy swish of her hand. she tells him that, no, she doesn't. she knows some people do, but he should ignore them. they don't matter, in the long run. 

he tries to argue, because  _yes_ , they  _could_ matter, but she just laughs at his worries.

nathan, you're alright, she says, sure, you get angry easily, but doesn't everybody?

 

he thinks he wants to marry her.

 

he does, another ten years down the line, when they're both of age. she is not herself, though. hasn't been since he proposed. she didn't deny him, but he can tell she doesn't want it.

nathaniel doesn't care.

he was born in flames, and they are him, and they destroy _anything_ getting in his way.

 

brian does not marry. nathaniel can't bring himself to care, but one night as he stops by, home for the fall equinox, that an argument breaks out. brian wants to leave. 

fine, their father shouts, leave. go to the ground, live there. you are no son of mine.

 

nathaniel tells cali about this, expecting her to be happy with him. he has his birthright back. he will rule the Above, when his father passes.

she asks him if he's ready for that.

no, he admits, because he can say these sort of things to her. no, he isn't ready. but he will be.

 

his father catches deathbell.

he dies four weeks into the disease.

 

but on his will, signed and true, just a week before he got sick, it says that brian owns all his property. nathaniel burns a path through the garden. cali looks on, the flames reflecting in her storming eyes. he doesn't want to know what she thinks of him, anymore.

he will get his way, one way or another.

 

a duel. his very first.

if he wins, he'll secure an island for him and cali.

it's some other nobleman's son. nathaniel beats and burns him, until his face is unrecognizable. people will give him what he deserves, what he wants, or  _this_ is the punishment.

 

the thrill of the fight keeps making him go back. he continues on, battling and thrashing and clawing like a rabid animal. he is  _ruthless_. duels aren't meant to be to the death, but he finds he wins so much more when an angel dies and is forced to sign over all their property.

and then, a just over a handful of decades later, he finally works up his courage to challenge brian. 

brian, who sits on his throne with his crown hanging heavy. brian, who does not have any wife or husband, brian, who does not have an heir, unlike nathaniel.

brian, who has nothing much to lose.

they fight, and fight, and eventually, both their wings don't function and they're biting and clawing at each other in the mud. nathaniel claws one of brian's eyes out. brian wrenches a jagged wound down his chest with a burst of magic, making a starburst, like he has a sun in his chest.

but he wins. he wins because he pins brian down, and strangles him until he's gone limp.

 

the original bet was fifty-fifty. half of brian's land and property goes to nathaniel, and suddenly brian only rules over the ground. suddenly, nathaniel has control of the military, of the other generals, of the islands and people inhabiting them.

suddenly, he is Crown.

 

cali grows distant. nathaniel's own son, anthony, stays locked away as much as he can. nathaniel says, fuck them, i don't need them.

his advisor, a frail man named jeremiah, tells him he should push troops at the east. don't be too harsh, this requires precision. this requires a careful hand. 

nathaniel does, and he ignites the beginnings of a war.

 

he meets the King of the East only once in his lifetime. it's supposed to be a political meeting, for a peace treaty.

micah, that is his name, stands tall. his horns curve back, sharp and polished. his tail does not move, does not give away emotion. his Judge, his Brother, stands at his right. nathaniel has heard rumors of others in their family.

micah does not waste time on small talk. he gets to the point, remove your forces, or we will be forced to draw our hand. we have remained as peaceful as he can up until now, but he is pushing it. remove his troops, his soldiers, and there will be peace.

nathaniel spits at them and tells them he will  _not_. because he is proud and stubborn, and the combination of the two will be the death of him.

 

many, many years later, there was more talk of a political meeting, and this time he would be the one to go there. except, he does not lower himself like that, and he refuses. at the last minute, of course, because he is just that spiteful.

 

and two wingsmiths show up. 

they are from a drifitng island. not uncommon, but enough so that nathaniel is only somewhat interested.

he goes to their island a while after rumor of their arrival got to him. one of them has excellent control of metalworking, and he seems to have an extension into earth magic, considering the extra island tagging alongside the main one. nathaniel lands near their house - still in construction, but coming along fine. he has never seen architecture such as it before.

they are twins, apparently. he doesn't believe it, but the way they glance at each other shows their close. they hold a silent conversation after he asks if they would be willing to make a set of wings for him, for the summer solstice coming up.

finally, the one with orange eyes turns back to him and says, for a price.

he has a strange accent lisping his words, but nathaniel figures it's because they were drifters. those are usually barbaric and uncultured. that must be it.

what sort of price?

the other cuts in, asks for a  _lot_. they have balls, nathaniel will give them that. they're prideful, too. but he eyes their wings - sleek, plain silver, but without scratches or dents. the wiring is something he's never seen before.

so he accepts. they remain strangely emotionless up until he leaves.

 

the cure to deathbell is found in an unassuming healing angel. 

it's in his blood, he explains, showing nathaniel test tubes and microscopes. he isn't sure how, but it  _cures_ it. how does he know?

he admits his best friend got infected. he's in solitary, don't worry, sir, but he isn't sick anymore.

is the healer immune?

no. the kid explains that he isn't immune, but it must have something to do with the mixing of his magic in his blood. nathaniel blocks out his chatter after a few minutes. all he needed to know was if there actually was a cure, and if it worked.

he asks to see the patient. the kid takes him downstairs, and to a small room. there's only one door. he pushes open a slot and speaks into it. after a moment, a voice within replies. the healer turns to nathaniel and bows and tells him that- simon, that's the patient's name- simon is just getting ready.

nathaniel sighs because he does not have  _time_ for this. but if there is a cure, he can control that. he owns this small healing hut, he owns this island. he asks if the healer would like a better building. better equipment, better funds. the healer's eyes light up at that. 

so it's a deal. the kid- baki, he corrects - will have to report to nathaniel with every deathbell case. the cure is expensive. it's rare. it isn't a necessity. it is only for those who can afford it, those who are only worthwhile can have it.

baki's eyes harden at that, go icy-cold, but he keeps his lips sealed. good. nathaniel needs desperate people who will do horrible things. he needs them because they are easy to control.

and then simon comes out, looking like death. but alive, and not thrashing around. he has a mask over his face, and a hood over his head. he bows to nathaniel, but stays in the doorway.

alive, huh. interesting. he bids baki good luck - the funds will arrive shortly - and leaves.

 

then the dragon egg arrives.

he'd sent a group out to steal a clutch from the east. the return, but only two of the seven, both burned and hardly standing. he sighs smoke and takes the egg from them, and grins at the pulsing of life within it.

 

the egg hatches shortly after arrival. the baby comes out spitting smoke and snapping at his hands. nathaniel cracks a whip of flames across its back and it shrieks, worming it way across the floor. it won't fly for a while. that means he has plenty of time to bend it to his will.

so each day he visits, feeds it if it cooperates, and trains it. when it does not get something right, he plucks scales, he whips it, he kicks it across the floor. it grows, slowly, its ribs pressing against its sides, its spine a mountainous ridge. its fur grows in, oily and thin, and its black and gold and white scales are dull.

the first time he has it dredge up land, it nearly collapses from the strain. he snaps fire across its snout and it whines, but picks itself back up and continues digging, in fear that he will harm it further.

 

when he returns to the wingsmiths, they greet him coldly. he doesn't care why - nobody really likes him at this point. respects and fears him, but even his wife has fallen out of love with him. 

he orders a set of wings and pays a hefty price for it. the twins almost seem to want to refuse at first. something is dangerous, in their eyes. they remind him of vipers, waiting to strike. the orange-eyed one more so than- Nitram, that's the other's name. he isn't sure about orange-eyes.

but nathaniel is pleasant. he offers triple what he paid that last time. they can't refuse at that. greed is such a good thing to know how to play with.

when he comes back, a few weeks later, they unfold a beautiful set of wings. the gold engravings match his eyes and the black metal is something he has never seen before. he wonders where they got it from. 

orange-eyes goes on to talk about the wings in detail, trying to point out something or other, but nathaniel cuts him off. orders to help them get his wings off. they both pull disgusted faces. orange-eyes starts furling the wings back and says,

if he doesn't respect them, he will not get the wings.

but those- those are unlike any other set he's  _ever_ seen. they're sharp and dangerous, spines layered within, ready to shoot out at a moment's notice, ready to slice and tear and maim.

greed is a fickle thing.

for once, he bites his pride-heavy tongue and says he will take them.

 

not even a decade later, brian tells him over supper one night, he has made a mistake.

nathaniel knows that there was something up. his brother would only request an audience if he thought something needed to really be brought to nathaniel's attention.

he explains this woman, this- this-  _human_ woman. he explains not one, but  _two_ halfies. nathaniel sits in shocked silence and tells him he better stop fucking around.

brian doesn't say anything to that. his eyes are far away, like cali's were on their wedding day. nathaniel is coming to learn that it's some form of regret, some form of longing, and he feels  _ill_ at what this implies. 

you don't love her, do you?

brian does not need to answer this. so he doesn't.

what about your wife? your daughter? 

they don't know.

good, nathaniel says, we'll keep it that way.

 

masikae challenges him to a duel.

he fights and rips and claws, but then his wing locks. his mind instantly, briefly, flashes to the wingsmith, who had tried to explain details of how the wings worked, but he'd brushed them off and-

and then he's falling.

 

and kerberos - well, nathaniel can tell why his brother fell for her. 

she is vicious. she shoves potions down his throat and pokes his eyes and jabs at his pressure points and  _hits_ his wounds. for the first while there, she almsot has him under her thumb. almost.

her children - one of them is definitely brian's, the older. it looks too much like brian for it to be a coincidence. but the younger - the younger is  _curious_. something brian never really was. it tries to talk to him, late at night, early in the morning. it tries to ask him about what it's like to fly, if they eat humans, if-

he hates being grounded.

it's unnerving, for one, and he is stuck with this  _thing_ , this halfie, this freak of nature and its sibling and mother.

he wants  _out_.

 

he spends what seems like forver healing enough to properly move around by himself. kerberos, the smart woman she is, had tried to restrain him, but all he needed to do was send a puff of flames toward her kids, and she relented.

so it's then that he finds the papers. he flips through them for the good part of an hour, glancing over coded messages, characters only belonging to the East, nad he puts the pieces together. she's a spy. she's a  _spy_ , no wonder she had managed to so effectively get herself close to brian.

he burns her. the stench of rotting flesh is thick in the air.

but he  _burns_ her, and loves every second of it. her youngest comes stumbling in screaming for its mother, and nathaniel sneers at it. sends fire its way and it collapses, scrambling back, sobbing at the pain in its burned legs. 

nathaniel leaves, contacts brian, and within two weeks, he leaves the house, wings repaired. 

 

he takes them to the wingsmith to have them repaired. a silent smugness hangs in the air, floating around the twins. nathaniel chooses to ignore it.

 

it is many, many years later when the wingsmith approaches him with a challenge. his name is martin, and his eyes are cold, calculating, much like nathaniel's own. he realizes why just a second later, when his eyes land on the  _kid_.

seto recognizes him, eyes wide, trembling where he's standing. junys notices him staring and his eyes are asking a silent question, but nathaniel pays him no mind.

he accepts.

he cannot make the mistake of letting this halfie free. not again.

 

and then he  _burns_.

the sigil rips him apart from the inside out, organs turning to slush, trying to escape his body. he writhes, choking on his own blood, frothing at the mouth, eyes blinded by the agony. it is indescribable. his very bones are cracking, and his world turns black, and the pain still echoes. 

he is  _burning_ , crackling in flames that don't exist, flesh bubbling and bursting. eyes shriveling up in his head, tongue caught in flame, teeth shattering from the heat. he coughs up embers that are stuck in his throat, breathing flames that only serve to sear his lips until what remains of his teeth are bare and unprotected. 

distantly, before his ears sink into his skull and he stops hearing, he notices the wingsmith's mad cackling.

it's the last thing he hears.

and then, wreathed in flames, he  _burns._

**Author's Note:**

> nathaniel is a bitch but i really like his character.  
> he's also a really shitty fucking guy don't feel bad for him.


End file.
